The Life and Death of Spiders
by Logan Alastor
Summary: When something goes screwy in Tokyo, it takes no prisoners. Spider-man and Venom get caught in a 3-way war between the Senshi, supernatural forces, and an old rival.
1. Update

Hiya, people! This is the other here. I'm delaying the progress of this fic for a bit, as I'm going to update the chapters. So, you know...Stay with me here, and check for updates! 


	2. Labtec

Disclaimer: Hi. This is the author speaking. If your reading this right now, I have officially sucked you into my world of insanity. Now, I have to warn you, in making this story, I spent COUNTLESS hours of day dreaming in all my academic subjects and looking up Sailor Moon history and powers and such, just so I could give this a shot. To be honest, I know almost nothing about Sailor Moon. I still know very little. But my girlfriend loves it. Myself, I am I diehard Spider-man fan. I know everything about him. But I thought this would be fun to give a shot at. Now, I don't own either of the titles. Bishoujou Senshi Sailor Moon and all its characters are owned by Naoko Takeuchi (at least, that's what I've been told.) And Spider-man and all its characters are owned by Marvel Comics. I don't in anyway own any of these characters, except the stock I put in for the Spider-man movie (and made a freakin' fortune!) Now NO ONE CAN SUE ME FOR THIS, unless I have some how warped your extremely fragile minds. If so, I recommend you get out of your shell and learn a little self-control. Anyway, I won't bore you anymore.  
  
Logan Alastor (A.K.A SomeguyY2k) Presents:  
  
Spider-man/ Sailor Moon: The Life and Death of Spiders.  
  
Prologue:  
  
Labtec  
  
There are a lot of things people in this world don't understand. But some people tell us differently. Many people will tell you that you only need to know one thing very well, and the rest is merely basic function. A basic example 'The only thing you need to learn, is how to love, and be loved in return.'- Moulin Rouge. But along with everything comes a responsibility. It is the price of knowledge, or power, or wealth. With love, happiness or even hate, there must also be a will to keep it. If not, then it isn't any reason to keep it. That is one of the things that people don't understand. That is how dreams can be broken. When people take for granted what they have, there will be a consequence that they have to pay. For people without this knowledge, it's like breaking out of your childhood bubble. When people finally grow up, they have to face the cold, harsh reality that there is evil in the world. And not all of it you can see. Evil is an ethereal creature. Evil has often been referred too as 'dark' and 'occult'. But most of it lives within us. Depending on how we grow and what we worship, evil is something that is carried on with us. This is one of the things that we have to pay attention to. We have to know of evil. Both physical and ethereal. We have to realize that it will never go away. But we also have to realize that we control it. For those of us who learn the hard way what evil is, and for those of us who learned from other people's mistakes, we have to realize that the evil that lives inside us is real. And we also have to know that we are the only ones who can control it. It's us, not our parents or teachers or politicians who can tell you what it is. We have to figure out what it is for ourselves, and ultimately, choose how it influences us in the future. We have the power to stop or create evil. The only question is how do we use it responsibly?  
  
'With great power, comes great responsibility.' -Benjamin Parker.  
  
They are called 'The Savage Lands.' A small island outside of the Brazilian jungles. On a world map, it would seem relatively insignificant in size. It wasn't until 3 years ago the United States Military discovered it, and soon after became a headquarters for small military chemical weapons facilities. Unfortunately, the unpredictable weather and uneven terrain began to make such operations exceedingly difficult, as repeated black outs, power failures and supply delays began to take it's toll on everyone working at the facility. Stories of gruesome deaths and injuries we're beginning to occur. Machine accidents. Accidental chemical spills. But even more disturbing were the mysterious deaths and disappearances of faculty workers unrelated to the mechanical failures. Some say that perhaps the chemicals within the facilities had somehow affected the employees. Theories and rumors of the chemicals spread around. Some told stories of the chemicals affecting the brain, slowly deteriorating the left side of the mind. The logical side. And given time, would force madness on the victim, causing violent behavior and animal-like aggression. Others told of strange mutations that the chemicals caused. Stories about how it twisted the flesh, and turned the victim into an inhuman, deformed killing machine. A modern day monster, as they put it. Others told even more horrifying stories. About how the chemical would bring the victim back to life..as the bloodthirsty dead..  
  
Others of less superstitious thinking refused to believe any of those claims, a said these casualties were nothing more then perhaps the inhabitant animals of the island. It did make some sense, as the ecological environment was never fully explored. Perhaps they had been invading animal territory, or perhaps just a predator out on the hunt. Whichever theory was decided upon, if one had actually been sided with at all, everyone agreed on one thing: the experiments would have to be shut down. In less then 48 hours, all facilities had been evacuated, only taking what few essential discoveries they had managed to uncover, and leaving everything else behind. Unfinished experiments, untested chemicals, even the facility power was left unchecked.  
  
It was left perfectly usable for someone else to take over.  
  
This is where out story takes us, to the office of Dr. Paul Bronconier. He was a former genetic scientist, who specialized on the abnormal effects radiation had on the human body. Over the years, a handful of tests involving radiation and genetic engineering had experienced minor miscalculations. But Bronconier thought differently about these statements. He scoffed at the use of the words 'miscalculations', and felt that the experiments had given him the breakthroughs he needed in order to continue his work. Dr. Bruce Banner's transformation into the Hulk due to the testing of the gamma bomb was written off as a failure. But Bronconier claimed that it was a scientific miracle. There were theories that the vigilante known as Spider-man had somehow interacted with one of Oscorps newly developed 'super-spider' experiments. He only wished he had access to those files..  
  
He new, however, that this was the break he was looking for. He only needed a better team of scientific minds, rather then the shortsighted buffoons he worked with, a better-funded lab, and, perhaps, some willing test subjects. That's when he met the little man known as Chesbro. They had interacted once, and only once, in person. It was in a dark ally, only 5 months ago. Bronconier had just lost his job. The company he worked for had laid off all the non-essential employees. Bronconier was filled with an incredible rage, feeling a brilliant mind such as his shouldn't be treated as 'non- essential'. That very same night, just as Bronconier was about to throw everything away and turn over to alcohol, two large and ominous looking men, with the incredibly short, Igor-looking man in-between, cut him off. He told him his name was Chesbro, and offered him a job. They would pay a small fortune per month, hire highly trained personal bodyguards at no expense, and hand him a small but brilliant team of scientists who shared his ambition. The only catch was that it was on a remote island south of the Brazilian jungles, known as 'The Savage Lands', but they assured his complete and total protection, so long as he did his mysterious masters work without question. Bronconier had heard of stories about the savage lands, and not just about the chemical weapon facility incidents. But that they were home to cannibalistic natives, incredibly dangerous, undiscovered wildlife, and some even say, horrible, bloodthirsty demons.  
  
But none of this mattered to Bronconier. A chance to continue his work in a state-of-the-art science lab with people who's ambition matched his own..was like a dream come true.  
  
Though he didn't know what else he would be working on. He didn't know that right now, he would be staring at a computer screen in his dark office, attempting to unlock a coded disk. He had lost all track of time up to this point. He had been in there hours. Maybe even a whole day. And why? Because his employers had instructed that he uncover the mystery behind this disk. It was incredible. He had tried every security bypass and encoder program within his power, and yet the result was the same. The same lines of code, flashing passed the screen. Over and over again. It reminded him of the movie the Matrix. In fact, it looked exactly like the movie. Just a blank screen, with thousands upon thousands of lines of code, flashing by every second. He sat in his work seat, resting his head on clenched fist, glaring at the screen through those big, thick spectacles he had been wearing since he was a child, with a look of utter annoyance. He hated it when he couldn't solve things. It was the one thing that got on his nerves more then anything. Puzzles he couldn't solve. He had the same problem with his ex-wife. She was a beautiful woman. Long, strawberry blond hair, the figure of a super model, an exquisite face and a gentle smile. Though she clearly loved him, despite the fact that he was somewhat 'nerdy', he couldn't figure her out at all. In the end, despite her protests, they decided to divorce. Though, for some reason, he always kept a picture of her on his desk, right beside his computer. He couldn't help but wonder, that perhaps if things could have been different..if only she had let him understand her..  
  
"Sir?"  
  
He jumped out of his seat and let out a small yelp, gripping the desk and looking around the room nervously for the source of the noise.  
  
"Sir? There's a call for you on line 1. Mason says it's important."  
  
Bronconier sighed and gripped his chest lightly. It was only Sean. Sean was one of his bodyguards. He was somewhat dopey, but he could follow orders like a highly trained Labrador. Most of the time behind Sean's back, his other bodyguard Mason would call him just that. A Labrador. But Bronconier respected the fact that in this whole facility, there was no one that he could trust more then Sean. Bronconier laughed a bit, then his the speaker button on the intercom beside him. 'Ok, Sean, just make sure this phone call is run through the protection lines this time. I don't want anyone listening in on this.'  
  
Bronconier heard someone laugh in the back, and then he heard Sean curse. 'No problem, Sir.' He said. Then the intercom went silent.  
  
About ten seconds later, he saw the red light on his phone blink. There were 5 lines on the phone. Only one of them was shielded from unwanted listeners. Line 3 was that special shield. The light was blinking beside line 2. Bronconier smiled, and was about to reach for the intercom when he heard a loud scream, that sounded more like someone yelling 'fuck!' then a loud banging noise.  
  
Suddenly, the light blinked beside line 3.  
  
'Idiots..' he muttered out, shaking his head. The he reached out for the phone. Picking it up, he put it beside his ear and pressed the crudely labeled 'line 3', that had been marked with a piece of tape with poorly written printing. 'One thing they didn't promise,' Bronconier thought. '..was a new phone. Cheap bastards..'  
  
'Hell, -cough-, urm, excuse me. Hello?'  
  
'Dr. Bronconier,' a timid, small, yet surprisingly firm voice replied. 'I have called for a status report. What have you uncovered about the disk?'  
  
Bronconier took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. 'About as much as I uncovered the last time you phoned me, Chesbro. Which, I might add, was an hour ago. Whatever is on this disk your nameless "master", has instructed me to uncover, remains a mystery only known to it's creator.'  
  
Chesbro let out a sigh, which sounded somewhat like someone blowing through a plastic tube. 'I had..presumed as much. I was instructed to double check. How about the test subjects?'  
  
Bronconier smiled, and for an instant, a twinkle could be noted his weary eyes. 'Of course.' he said, with a somewhat sadistic tone. 'The test subjects. Let me check.'  
  
He moved his hand out and struck a few keys. Instantly, a new screen had popped up. It showed 3 paragraphs, each labeled under a series of numbers, and beside it showed vital signs, pulse reading, and, at the end of each paragraph, said. "Complete". Then a percentage beside it.  
  
'Subject #365826368 is at 77% complete. #383923790 is at 45%. But we have just finished placing the implants in subject #348292027. It's only begun adapting in the stasis pod at 2%.' Bronconier seemed happy by this. 'Soon.' He thought to himself. 'Your dream will be realized, Paul. Just hang in there.'  
  
He heard Chesbro whisper on the other line. 'Secrets, eh Chesbro?' Bronconier thought. 'I thought there were no secrets in this business. What's REALLY going on here, I wonder?'  
  
'Keep working on the disk, my good doctor.' Chesbro said is a slightly dark and low voice. 'My master insists this is of great importance, Bronconier. To my master, and to you.'  
  
Bronconier found this somewhat amusing. 'My my..the cheerful Chesbro wouldn't be, THREATENING little me, would he?' Bronconier said, in a more then slightly sarcastic tone. 'Now, is there anything else your master desires, my friend?'  
  
Chesbro also seemed to find this also just as amusing, judging by the high- pitched chuckle he heard. 'Get to work on that disk..DOCTOR Bronconier.' Then the receiver went dead.  
  
'What an amusing little man..' Bronconier said as he put the phone down. He hit the keys on the computer again and went back to the lines of code, flashing back and forth across the screen.  
  
'What does it mean?' 


	3. Spiders are an incorrigable breed

Disclaimer: Welcome back. I guess you could stomach this story after all. Then again, you could have just accidentally hit the wrong link and winded up here...though I sincerely hope that isn't the case. But now that I have your attention...HEY!!!! GET BACK HERE!!!  
  
Bishoujou Senshi Sailor Moon is property of Naoko Takeuchi, as Ultimate Spider-man is property of Marvel Comics. (Yeah yeah, you heard me say this before...you just never know what the law system will sue me for if I don't say this in every freaking chapter.) Anyway, without further warning, I give you:  
  
Logan Alastor (A.K.A SomeguyY2k) presents:  
  
Spider-man/ Sailor Moon: The Life and Death of Spiders.  
  
Spiders are and incorrigible breed...  
  
New York City. Manhattan Island. 2:46 A.M.  
  
POV of Spider-man.  
  
One thing you gotta know about New York, aside from the fact that it's a virtual Hell hole, and the fact that it almost has this big, fat, freaking sign that tells almost every super villain and cheap thug in the whole damn multiverse to come on over, is probably that you get very few storm warnings. Weather is strangely predictable over here. So, I don't often find myself hovering over a couple of thugs getting lit in an alleyway at 2:30 in the morning, freezing my buns off in a hail/thunder/rain storm. I mean, it just doesn't happen! If it did happen a lot, I would always be wearing a spandex uniform. Ok, so maybe it's not exactly skintight spandex. I sort of began to realize that wearing tight clothing around the crotch could get somewhat embarrassing. Especially when fighting agenst or beside certain...heh heh...more attractive members of the female "good guy" clubs. So I decided to pad the costume down some. Now it only looks like I'm wearing tight jeans...oy vey...  
  
Humiliation aside, my point is that it's really cold. Really, really cold. And being stuck in an alleyway with nothing to keep me interested but a couple of clueless thugs and the smell of dog urine wasn't my ideal choice of surroundings for a stake out. Stakeouts usually have nice cars, doughnuts, binoculars and, in some cases, dirty magazines. But do I get dirty magazines on a stake out? NOOOO! I get pegged by hail and only have a half torn issue of a Playstation gaming magazine!...hey...Metal Gear Solid 3 is coming out? I thought it was just a myth...!  
  
But getting back to why I'm up here...I forgot myself...oh wait. Right. Maybe I wasn't completely honest about the two guys I'm spying on. They aren't really run-of-the-mill thugs. These guys are called Terry and Duce. A couple of badasses that just hit town a week ago. Now, see, I'm not really one to give praise to bad guys once they do something naughty, but let's face it: these two are pros. They're practically a two man army. Well, sort of. As far as guys with no super powers go, they we're pretty good. About a month ago, I heard from a thug that a huge cocaine shipment was going to arrive at the docks. Funny how thugs kind of just spill information like that in fear. I know that they think Spider-man is scary, but I wonder what they would think if they knew that behind the mask, a 17 year old was laying them flat and...whatever...anyway; it was supposed to arrive 3 days ago. So I show up to make sure none of it hits the streets. Here I am, thinking I hit pay dirt, as about 30 heavily armed thugs show up to receive the shipment. That when something weird happened. Not only did the cargo not show, but a bomb had gone off. At first, I didn't know what was happening. All I could see was this big, blinding flash in the distance. I later learned on the news it was a bomb, and according to what I learned from the street, these two were responsible.  
  
The one on the left is Terry. Light brown hair, 5'10, somewhat skinny, black leather jacket. But from what I've heard, he's a pure genius. Guy in his early twenties, but is, well, some kind of master strategist. Though some people say this is only due to the fact that he does a lot of acid and weed. He's smoking pot right now, actually, even though he has to keep lighting the blunt every 15 seconds, due to the rain. He was supposed to have planed a two-man attack on the cargo ship, steal the coke, and then sink the ship with some calculated explosions. I found it kind of hard to believe this guy, no matter who he was partnered up with, could pull something like that off, and still get out in one piece. Until I actually SAW the guy he was partnered up with.  
  
His name was Duce. Big Green Mohawk, 6'7, built like a tank with tattoos. This guy is the pure invisionment of 'American Badass.' I'm guessing that what Terry is in brains, Duce is in brawn. He literally has arms like a gorilla. No joke. I heard only a little about him, and they said he managed to murder seven guys in a bar fight with his bare hands. One strike each. Whoever this guy is, he's a human killing machine. Let's face it: I can bench press more then any two X-men. I can shatter concrete walls with my fists. I'm reasonably sure I can handle this guy. But just thinking about fighting him gives me the jibblies. Then again, I've always been kind of a pansy about fighting...well...anyone.  
  
Fortunately, until these guys either find they're ride (if they in fact have one) or start talking about who they work for and why they pulled that job on the ship, I'm not aloud to beat on them. On the bright side, thought, I still have this gaming magazine to read...damn, Lara Croft is soooo hot...  
  
Author: Ok, so I wasn't totally honest. This isn't the Ultimate Spider-man story line. I've...well...kicked the story two years ahead. Peter Parker is 17, and Eddie Brock (Venom) is 21. The Senshi, however, I wanted to only have them in the first season. Unfortunately, this is after the last season. And since I'm not really all that good with memory, I've invented new weapons, and some new attacks for them, while keeping the olds ones, of course. Since there popping up in later chapters, you probably want to know this. The again, maybe you don't. Ok! Moving on...  
  
New York City, Long Island. 2:58 A.M.  
  
Funny, isn't it?  
  
Ok, ok. Let's start with what before we get to humor. New York City these days, well, isn't a safe place. Crime Syndicates. Mutant Terrorists. High Tech mercenaries. New York is pretty much a scum bucket strong hold. You learn that after a while, the ONLY way to get by is to kill, steal, and backstab just to keep out of real trouble. Hell, half the people in the City don't realize this until they're dead. Others learn this because people are dead. A lot of them will tell you this, like how they didn't get enough love as kids which they didn't deserve because they we're psycho's even THEN...but back to the point at hand. The term "super-villains" kinda makes you giggle, doesn't it? Just the thought of dweebs making idiots of themselves, running around in spandex costumes, makes you wonder why anyone takes them seriously. Why on earth anyone would anyone in their right mind DO something like that, and still keep coming back in that ridiculous costume, with a name like 'Molecule man'? Well let's face it.  
  
Super-Villains are, pardon my language, FUCKING SCARY.  
  
Sure sure, they don't look so scary when you see a picture of some moron in his pajamas in the paper, but when you meet them in person, you realize a few things. Your not really paying attention to the fact that the guy has a lightning bolt on his head, your more likely paying attention to the actual lightning bolt he's holding in his hand, and pointing at you. Most of the Super-villains you see in comic books are stereotypes. Actual Super- villains don't wear spandex. They wear high tech armor, and are loaded to the teeth with weapons and gadgets. And if you do meet a bad guy in a skintight suit, then that's even worse. It means he doesn't need armor or weapons to hurt you or protect himself. He is the weapon. He is the armor. And he's not afraid to show you this.  
  
The cops in this city are almost useless. They do they're best to keep order, but the real hero's behind this are the cities vigilantes. Super powered good guys. Some people call them Super-hero's. But anyone who's seen what they can do, and seen what they can do to you, KNOWS their vigilantes. A Super-hero is someone who fights for truth, justice and the American way. There aren't many people like that anymore. Less then a handful. Even the good guys are corrupt in some way. They fight for vengeance. They fight because others can't. They do it because the law can't, and because often, the legal "justice", hurts the innocent more then the guilty. Vigilante's...hell, in this city, they are, in fact, the ONLY system of justice.  
  
This is the most dangerous City on earth, and neither the good guys OR the bad guys, are making it better.  
  
Long Island, well, it has its fair share of poverty and bad neighborhoods, but it's also got a nice touch. There are a lot of nice houses, even mansions. Quiet, suburban areas. Of course, looks are deceiving. More often then not.  
  
One of these mansions belongs to one of the biggest and most well known thugs of all. His name is Thomas Rohdney. But he's best known in the underworld crime circuit as "Rock" Rohdney. He has a name for himself, sure, but who doesn't? Most of it was made up. The only reason he has his reputation was because the Don Fortunato, the newly crowned king of the underworld, owed him a favor. He gave him money, men, and real estate. Rumor was he had a part in taking down the Kingpin of Crime, Wilson Fisk. Of course, that was a bunch of bullshit. The only protection racket he owned was a bunch of defenseless old oriental men and woman who can barely afford to pay "protection". A lot of them get their stores burnt down by common thugs, and if they can't pay even after that...well, I'm sure you can imagine.  
  
POW.  
  
Sad, isn't it?  
  
Let's face it, though. His place is almost a strong hold. It's crawling with security. And when I say security, I mean a bunch of guys in black suits and sunglasses and you can't even tell the difference between them! But it hardly matters what they look like. No body can get it. See, Rock had always had this nagging problem, where he always felt like everyone was agenst him. If a football team he was betting on lost, he would shoot the television, then kill off some of his bodyguards, saying it was there fault, and that they bribed the team to lose, or some incredibly stupid reason like that. Tonight, though, he would be getting a special guest.  
  
Rock found himself being quarantined inside his office, surrounded by those same identical bodyguards. It never really occurred to him how robotic his men were. He was surrounded by 6 of them, each armed to the teeth with heavy equipment, wearing those hot black suits, and they were all huddled together, blocking Rock off from the rest of the room. The circle reeked of sweat, but it was all Rocks. His armpits smelled worse then the guard dogs, but the bodyguards didn't even flinch at the smell. But once again, his thoughts were interrupted by another explosion, and soon afterwards, the sounds of gunshots, screaming, and most puzzling and terrifying of all, was the roaring.  
  
Rock had no idea what was going on. What he did know, was that someone had breached security. But it had to be a lie. Obviously, it was an army of some sort. It had to be. A single intruder couldn't have broken through the front gates this way. It was impossible. But, once again, he heard the all- too familiar roar echo through the walls of the mansion. It was still a bit feint. It sounded far away, but he wasn't sure if it was just because of the gunshots or the screams were drowning them out. The roars had to belong to some kind of mutant terrorists, or maybe a sort of sonic disruptor...he didn't know what kind of technology the new groups of terrorists had...  
  
Once again, his thoughts were interrupted. But this time, it wasn't by animalistic roar, but the roar of something different. He looked beside his shoulder, and saw for the first time something he hadn't thought possible. One of his bodyguards was showing emotion. It would have had great amazing impact, if he hadn't realized that the mans 'emotion' was nothing but pure raged. The veins in his neck looked like they would pop out. He spat saliva when he spoke...err...yelled. But there was no mistaking what he was mad about. All Rock had to do was listen.  
  
'...what do you MEAN they've broken through the front gate??' He screamed into the cheap walkie-talkie Rock had provided all his men. For a few seconds, dead static filled the room, but finally, a voice replied.  
  
'....not...they...broken...hold...' The voice was broken into fragments by a see of static. Rocks guard was not amused. But at the same time, he heard a loud noise from outside the office. A noise that reminded him all to well, of hinges being torn off large doors.  
  
The guard looked in the direction of the noise. Apparently, he was thinking the same thing. The front doors to the mansion had been torn down.  
  
'Thirty two...' The guard said quietly. As quietly as he could under the feint sound of gunshots. '...what was that noise?'  
  
'...In!...it....doors...hold...' The voice said. But this time it was different. Rock could tell. It was more frantic. Most stressed then the last transmission. Rock felt sick as he heard this. Not because the voice sounded frantic, but because he could hear it more clearly. That could only mean that the sound of gunshots was getting fainter. Meaning that his men outside were losing.  
  
'Thirty two...' the guard said, speaking into the walkie-talkie again. But this time, Rock noticed that he wasn't the only one sweating in this room anymore. 'Did they or did they not breech the front doors?'  
  
This time something interesting happened. The walkie-talkies static was gone. But at the same time, so was the sound of gunshots. Rock stopped breathing. So did everyone else in the room. Pure, untouched, silence. Once again, the shaking guard spoke into the walkie-talkie.  
  
'Thirty-two? Do you read me? Did they breech the front gate?' Again, there was a few seconds of silence. Then, Rock slightly jumped when he heard the other end pick up. A soft chuckle could be heard on the other line. But it didn't sound like the security guard. He sounded lower, deeper, and for some reason, more savage. Rock then knew it wasn't the guard when he finally heard the voice speak.  
  
'Not "they", my good man...' the voice said. '...we.'  
  
In that same instance, a small squeak could be heard in the distance. Then it began to intensify. Neither rock, nor anyone else in the room could confuse the sound. It was a scream. And it was rapidly getting closer. Rocks office door was made of pure Iron. When the window-shattering scream finally became unbearably close, the door suddenly dented. Rock yelped like a little girl in a horror movie when he saw it. Everyone jumped back at the sight of it. Someone fired off a couple of shots into the ceiling. When Rock finally got the courage to look, he felt his stomach turn.  
  
The dent was shaped in a sphere-like form on the wall, and the curves on it were sickeningly perfect. He recognized it immediately. The dent was in the form of a human head. The security guard known as thirty-two. The screaming man. His head had been shoved into the iron door like Han Solo in the second Star Wars. Rock felt his vision beginning to fade. He couldn't take it anymore. He threw up on himself, and feinted.  
  
Author note: Ok. Well one thing is for sure. This definitely was NOT worth waiting for. I wanted to add more, bit I didn't think it was such a good idea to "indulge" you too much in this chapter, since we still have to get to the POV of the Senshi. So the conclusion to this will probably be in the chapter after this one. Until then... 


End file.
